


Four Uniforms

by copperbadge



Series: Writer In A Drawer 2009 [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Boeshane Peninsula, Military Uniforms, Time Agency, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-30
Updated: 2009-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has worn any number of uniforms, but some he won't wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Uniforms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 7 of writerinadrawer.  
> Theme: 4 + 1; added element, colours of the rainbow. This was also an optional round.  
> Word Count: Less than 1000

**I. Cadet**

There were ten of them in the changing room, all unabashedly naked, not that with Dorin you could tell. She'd had trouble getting a DU.2 that didn't chafe her pelt, but she looked good in the final cut. 

Jacky and Ivan, inseparable as always (just as well, given Ivan's wildness) were helping each other into the complicated trousers when Kepo looked up and shouted "KE OFFICER ON DECK PO" and everyone straightened to attention, half-dressed as they were. Ivan's dick was hanging out, of course. 

The officer on deck turned out to be Strap Commander Neilson, who surveyed the half-dressed cadets impassively. 

"At ease," he barked. 

Ivan took the opportunity to do up his trousers. 

"I came to speak to you here, before the graduation ceremony, because here is where you put on those uniforms," the strap commander announced. "You won't wear your parade dress often; we don't even issue battle-dress, and there's a reason for that. But when you put on the red shirt and trousers and the gold collars you become Time Agents. That is a prestige few will ever carry." 

Jacky glanced at Kepo, who looked especially edible. He was quivering with pride and eagerness, and the red set off his green skin nicely. 

"There are those who will tell you myths about the DU.2," the strap commander continued. "They'll say it's red to hide the blood or to blend in with fire or because Time Agents are vain. Ignore them. Most cultures see red as a sign of sin, of passion you shouldn't have. People don't wear red, have you noticed?" 

They shook their heads. 

"Yes, well. If you're ever in a jam, it might help to know that. When you travel -- by strap or otherwise -- keep your eyes open. When you're in trouble, try to wear red, so others can find you. It might not help at all, but who knows?" he shrugged. "Might save your life."

Jacky shifted uneasily. 

"Welcome to the Time Agency," the strap commander finished. "May God have mercy on your souls."

**II. CO**

After Lucia left him -- after she took away his daughter, the child he never wanted until he had her -- Jack begged to be sent away from Torchwood. He wouldn't try to contact the Doctor, he swore, just please...a few months, enough time to be shut of the memories. 

This wasn't what he'd had in mind. 

The flight suit fit, of course, like it was made for him. The olive-green made his skin seem to glow. He knew he looked good, and he was surrounded by good-looking men, all of whom wanted to please him. But all he could see in the RAF cadets were little boys. Being sent up in big fucking machines. To die. 

Well, if they were going to die, they were going to die _right._ He owed them that much. 

"Okay, hot shots," he said, thumbs hooked in his belt. "My name is Harkness. It's my job to turn you into pilots. I'm not your friend. I'm not your father. I _am_ the best airman in the RAF."

They looked scared. God, they were kids. 

Well, he'd been a kid once. 

"So," he said, and broke into a wide, dazzling grin, "let's teach you baby birds how to fly, huh?"

**III. Child**

Boeshane was brittle and dry, all duns and umbers and grey brush. The brightest thing in Jack's world was a red bowl his grandmother brought along when they came to the colony, decades ago, when his mother was a child. The bowl was beautiful, and Jack wasn't allowed to touch it.

Still, he treasured equally the dull wood and sand, the pale clothing the colonists wore. A sensualist from childhood, Jack loved to see and touch and taste. He lived for the days the sun, setting over the ocean, turned the world to gold.

Yellow was the brightest colour they were allowed, after the Creatures came. Vivid shades drew too much attention. 

Jack's prize possession, a bright yellow tunic, was for special occasions only. When he put it on, his chest could burst from pride as he strutted amongst his friends, all in their loud canary yellow. 

The last time he remembered wearing it was going to a dance, with his best friend's hand in his left, and Gray's hand in his right. 

**IV. Captain**

Jack never wears yellow anymore. 

Blue was the colour of mourning, on his planet. Even blue was forbidden, after the Creatures. That's his colour now. Blue shirts in a row, indigo-grey coat, charcoal trousers on the rack. 

"You'd look good in something bright," Ianto said to him once. 

"I look good in everything," Jack replied. "I like blue."

"Why?" Ianto asked, fingers curling in on his own shirt-cuffs, coral pink and gorgeous. 

"I just do," Jack answered, and turned away. 

**V. Consul**

"It's beautiful," he said, fingering the embroidered cloth. 

"Toga Picta," his handler announced, letting the fabric fall in folds. "Worn by Praetors, Consuls -- nobility. You'll get everything you want in a toga like this. What name are you wearing?"

"Gaius Aulus," he answered.

"Try it on," his handler said. 'Gaius' stroked the purple cloth again, fondled a shoulder-clasp covetously, and shook his head. She frowned. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Nothing," he said. "But I can't wear it."

"Whyever not?"

"It's not who I am."

"Oh, here we go again," Ivan -- Brittanicus Baltus, in this incarnation -- moaned. He was already struggling into a royal purple under-tunic. "I'm a _soldier_ ," he mocked in a falsetto.

"I am," Gaius insisted. "This is noble clothing. Put me in armor. Something more common. I couldn't pull off being a nobleman."

His handler looked depressed, and he did feel sorry for her. But this beautiful royal toga -- he'd only ruin it. He always did.

"I'm just not nobility," he said. "I never will be. Make me a soldier. That, I can be."


End file.
